The naked chef
by Bruno
Summary: Mundungus Fletcher wants this to be a breakfast to remember. There's just a few small problems...


Disclaimer: HP is the property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury books, Scholastic books, and Warner Brothers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Thanks to Scarlet and Pandora for betaing.  
  
The Naked Chef  
  
"Molly Weasley! You come back 'ere right now!"  
  
Dung was furious, but had no desire to crawl down on the floor, following her. He had just showered, after all, and the floor was a mess. "You filthy thief! A shame to your kind, ya are. Bring that thing back 'ere, or I'll lock ya up in the bathroom again, you little tart."  
  
Molly obviously had too much common sense to actually obey him, and remained under the red sofa without making a sound. But then, Dung was making enough sound for two, so why should she?  
  
With a groan of frustration he turned back to the tiny kitchen of his flat, and stared at the kitchen table with a dark expression. This wasn't much of a banquet; a can of tuna and a jar of marmalade; typical wasn't it? The one time he truly wanted to give a good impression, and he had nothing to offer but himself and dry sandwiches. He had saved that piece of roast beef for days with this special occasion in mind, and now all that was left was a chewing sound from under the sofa.  
  
He took a quick glance into the bedroom, and the low soft snoring told him that the special guest was still sleeping.  
  
It was ten o' clock in the morning and the Muggle London street was bustling outside his window; quickly he pulled on his trousers and a Muggle T-shirt and found a five pound note in the cupboard. Barefoot he walked down the narrow stairs and quickly crossed the street to the little corner shop, where a smiling Chinese woman greeted him. After staring contemplative into the pile of vegetables in the middle of the shop, he bought noodles and a piece of canned ham, and hesitantly he grabbed a bottle of coke.  
  
Money has wings, he thought as he padded back across the street, and missed being hit by a bus with just a few inches. 'You don't get me that easily; I'm gonna die with my boots on, thankyouverymuch.'  
  
It was suffocatingly hot; the July sun was burning the sticky asphalt and he had to run the last few feet, and sighed with contentment as he sat his bare feet on the cool stone steps up to his front door again. Two little boys saw him and snickered, and he stuck his tongue out to them before walking back in. It was really incredibly hot, he hadn't been outside more than five minutes, but still the sweat seemed to cling to his whole body. Inside he got out of his clothes again and took a short cold shower, the second in only one hour, and without a thread he walked out to dry off the natural way.  
  
Still there was nothing to hear except snores from the bedroom. "And I thought I was a sound sleeper..." Dung muttered to himself and shook his head. This heat should have taken the sleepiness out of anyone, but –obviously not...  
  
There was a sound from the floor, and he found Molly sitting by the fridge, looking utterly pleased with herself. "Ya mis'rable little..." Dung's eyes were dark with anger as he picked up the ginger cat and locked her inside the bathroom, but she just winked back at him and started licking her paw. "Now ya can sit 'ere and think 'bout what you just did. Shame on ya!" She seemed to smile as he closed the door.  
  
He fetched a bottle of Muggle lager from his fridge and sat down on the sofa in his living room, while staring at the pack of noodles on the table. He wanted to make something, but what could one do with ham, noodles and tuna? Not to forget the marmalade and the half empty box of corn flakes in the cupboard, of course. Perhaps he could smear himself in marmalade and make the chosen one lick it off? The thought was oddly tempting; they would still be hungry, but at least it would be a breakfast to remember.  
  
Perhaps not this early; sometimes a relationship needs to mature before one starts bringing in the marmalade, Dung mused while reading the backside of the noodle-pack. Didn't look too difficult, though, boil in hot water, add sauce and spices, if you had anything else throw in that as well. He looked closer –ham flavour. It would be the ham, then. Or perhaps he should be daring, and throw in the tuna? Reeling from all the choices he leaned back in the sofa and closed his eyes, only to discover how deliciously cold the bottle felt against his warm skin. While letting the bottle cool off various places he let his eyes wander to the ragged old poster of Che Guevara on the wall.  
  
"Whaddja think, Che? 'Am or tuna?"  
  
He had charmed the poster into replying whenever he gave it a question. "Ham. You should've bought chicken, that doesn't taste anything."  
  
"Ya think so? All right-"  
  
The snores from the bedroom lingered so Dung took a chance. After going through his enormous record collection he picked out one of them and to the sound of Jethro Tull he brought the noodles and the beer into the kitchen. "Ham it is then; Doctor's orders."  
  
He paused to look down at his naked body; perhaps he should wear something? But it was so hot... Behind the kitchen door he found a black leather apron he had bought once just because it looked cool, and he strapped it on and walked into the hall to take a look in the mirror. "Looking good," he told himself, but as he turned to leave the mirror muttered with a sour voice.  
  
"You got to lose a few pounds, Fletcher."  
  
"I lost five just now. Shut your cakehole," Dung replied without even looking at it.  
  
"I don't have a cakehole..." the mirror started, but he cut it off.  
  
"Merlin, that joke is so old!"  
  
He turned to it and gave it a hard, challenging glare, but the mirror retreated into a sullen silence and did not rise to the bait. Soon Dung was back in the kitchen, where it was so hot he was forced to open the window. Carefully he measured up the water and poured into a kettle, with a swish of his wand it was boiling and he stuck the wand back in the pocket of his apron. Then he carefully added spices and sauce and started cutting up the ham, while humming to the song on the record player.  
  
"You know I love to love you, and above you there's no other..."  
  
He cut his finger when someone knocked on the door. Staring into the kitchen wall he hoped and prayed that the person would come to his or her senses and go away, but the knocking continued. Swearing loudly, he put a piece of kitchen paper around his finger and walked out into the hall to open. "Yeah?"  
  
"Er... Dung- You're naked." Fred and George Weasley stood outside, staring at him with big eyes.  
  
"No, I'm not," he said. "I've got an apron. Besides, it's my flat and I'll do what I bloody well like."  
  
"Well, yeah," George said, desperately trying to stay serious; his brother had given up the fight already. "We thought we'd just...pop by with that thing you wanted." Awkwardly he gave Dung a tiny package wrapped up in brown paper, and Dung accepted it with a big smile.  
  
"Sorry," Fred hissed. "Could I use the bathroom?"  
  
"Sure." The boy walked past him and disappeared into the bathroom behind Dung's back. "It must've been 'ard making it... I never 'ad the talent for potions m'self." Dung unwrapped the pack and picked out a small vial filled with a clear liquid. "Looks perfect!"  
  
Fred came back, still grinning, though Dung had to say to the boys defence that he didn't try to sneak a peek; his eyes were fixed intently on the roof while he snickering made a comment that sounded suspiciously like 'bare-arsed cheek'.  
  
"Who're you planning to use it on, then?" George asked with a curious glance. "Warty Harris?"  
  
"As always," Dung nodded. "'E's just too good not to pull pranks on."  
  
"Know what you mean," the brothers said simultaneously, and said their good- byes.  
  
Humming, Dung returned to the living room, and hid the vial on the top shelf on the bookcase. When he returned to the kitchen he found Molly Weasley sitting on the kitchen table devouring the remains of his precious ham, and with a roar he threw the cat out in the stairway.  
  
Positively fuming he returned to the kitchen once more, and stared gloomily at the unopened box of tuna. Noodles and tuna with ham flavour it was then. Why not throw in what's left of the corn flakes as well? Should be an interesting meal. The marmalade was starting to seem like a good idea; and they could always go for fish and chips later.  
  
With a sigh he opened the can, and put the fish on a plate. Giving it a sceptical look, he read the text on the back of the noodle pack again; to his great relief, disaster looked avoidable as noodles seemed to be a tough dish to manage to screw up.  
  
Once again there was a knock on the door, and with an impatient snort he walked over to the door. It was Bill Weasley. "I seem to be popular wiv the Weasley's these days," Dung sneered. "Why don't the 'ole family come over for tea tomorrow, eh? Round five?" He closed the door in Bill's face, but halfway to the kitchen he turned and waddled back.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that."  
  
"Yeah..." Bill muttered, and shot him a quizzical look. "That's a...rather unorthodox outfit."  
  
"Warm day..."  
  
"Yes, well, I didn't come to discuss fashion," Bill continued. "I wondered if you'd seen the twins?"  
  
"'Ave they gone into 'iding?" Dung replied. "No, I 'aven't."  
  
"If you do, could you tell them Mum's looking for them?" Bill sniffed the air, and seemed to realise something. ""You're cooking...and wearing leather- Got someone in there, do you?" He winked with a knowing grin on his face.  
  
"Wearing leather?" Dung exclaimed incredulously. "What's that gotta do wiv it?"  
  
Bill turned his eyes to the floor and shrugged. "Nothing," he muttered.  
  
"Well, I do 'ave someone 'ere, actually, but I won't be able to do much 'bout it if I'm gonna answer the bloody door every five minutes," Dung sighed.  
  
"Yeah, sorry-"Bill waved good-bye and walked towards he stairs.  
  
"Some other time, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Bill winked from the stairs. "You take care of...whoever it is."  
  
"Trying...trying," Dung muttered and closed the door. When he found Molly on the kitchen table, he almost felt like crying. He didn't bother to chase her away; he just found a new bottle of lager in the fridge and sat down in the sofa again. Fish and chips, then. The English contribution to International Quisine, and a highly underrated source of nourishment. But he had no Muggle money left, would he really have to borrow...? Oh, the humiliation-  
  
They could always drop by Diagon Alley, of course, -people would talk then, but he didn't mind. Let them talk; if it was what they lived for he would give them cause for celebration. Live and let live, that was his mantra today. "Some'at you oughtta be thankful for, you little 'ag," he muttered to Molly as she jumped up in the sofa next to him. She purred loudly and curled up against his thigh, and he scratched her gently behind the left ear. The warmth and the calming purrs of the cat softly lulled him into a tired haze, and with a contented sigh he closed his eyes and drifted into an easy sleep.  
  
Half an hour later he jerked awake from the sound of someone coughing in the bedroom. He rose from the sofa so quickly he felt slightly dizzy; he had to sit back for a few seconds before he got up again and walked over to the bedroom door and opened it. The cat sneaked inside the dark room and jumped up on the bed, and with her tail held high she greeted the guest with a soft meow. The room was dark and warm, but the quilt covered the person from head to toe anyway. "You awake?" Dung asked quietly.  
  
"Mhm," a tired voice mumbled into a pillow, and who ever it was stretched beneath the thick quilt, letting out a little moan of pleasure while doing so.  
  
Quite sexy, really.  
  
Dung went to the kitchen and got a big glass of coke, and after hesitating for a second he picked up the jar of marmalade as well. Just in case. 


End file.
